I'm Almost Certain It's a Beautiful World
by singyourmelody
Summary: It'd be easy to believe it was written in the stars. That this was destiny. But she's not sure if she believes in all of those things and deep down, she knows she still has a choice. Cassie and Adam now and in the future.


I'm Almost Certain It's a Beautiful World

by: singyourmelody

Author's Note and Disclaimer: I do not own any Secret Circle characters. I've never actually even seen an entire episode, so any plot points that don't align with the show are entirely my fault. Also don't own Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which is really too bad. I love that movie. Title is from Carolina Liar's "Beautiful World," which is lovely. This takes place somewhat during the first few episodes and then continues long into the future after that. Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p>He finally just gives up.<p>

His mouth is on hers and he's moving quickly, but gently and his hands are at her waist and hers are clutching onto his arms as if they are the only thing rooting her to the earth and it's kind of like they are supposed to do this. Are not supposed to do this. _Not_.

The word flashes through her mind, but she pushes it away. He's kissing her. And they've tried to fight it, they really have. She's been here a year and they have never crossed the line, but now they've sprinted over it and . . . and he pulls away.

She looks at him, her eyes always more questions than answers, and he says (more for his benefit than hers), "I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

She doesn't understand.

"You. You're a gift to me and . . . and also one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make," he says, looking away. "You're in my life constantly, and I can't have you, not in the way that I want you."

It's a serious moment, but she can't help the harsh half-laugh that escapes from her throat. She's both a blessing and curse. One inevitably wrapped up in the other, so completely intertwined that they are inseparable.

"When have we ever been able to have what we want?" she asks.

And neither of them has the answer.

* * *

><p>It becomes a habit. Somehow they are alone <em>a <em>_lot_ and she can't even remember who begins it each time, but she now needs to kiss him like she needs oxygen and water and sleep. It's some kind of innate response and _oh__ god_, she's a cheater. She's the other woman; she's the homewrecking ruiner.

And it'd be nice to chalk it up to the inherent magnetic pull she feels towards him whenever he's in the room. As if a part of her that she's never known was missing has now been returned to her. It'd be easy to believe it was written in the stars. That this was destiny. She's not sure if she believes in all of those things, and deep down, she knows she still has a choice. So does he. And they keep choosing wrong.

So the next time they are alone (where is Diana again?), he looks around quickly before reaching for her. And it's just like their first_third_fifth kiss, only better, because each time they do it, she learns a little more about him. Like how he moans just a bit when she wraps her hand around his neck and pulls him closer. And that his fingers are always slightly cold when they trace the skin along her lower back. And that they have to turn out most of the lights whenever they do this because if they don't . . . well, things were exploding when their hands touched, they're not taking chances when this is more.

And this is more, isn't it? It's _everything_.

And yet.

Yet.

It can't be everything.

So she pulls away and turns the light on and whispers to him, "It's my turn to be the strong one now."

He stares at her for a second before he finally nods.

She walks him to her porch and says goodnight, ignoring what she sees in his face, his stance, in the way he is barely holding himself up. Of all the wars they have fought, the injuries they have sustained, the sacrifices they have made, this is the worst.

He doesn't kiss her goodbye and later, when she looks in the mirror, she realizes that even though she has finally done right, she can't seem to tell the difference between good and bad.

* * *

><p>He and Diana break up two days later.<p>

These events are not connected, he says to her and she says back to him, but they are both lying.

She has inadvertently set this whole thing in motion and now Diana is hiding her broken heart (though Cassie can still see it—broken hearts always recognize one another) and all three of them are damaged and how is any of this fair?

* * *

><p>They keep their distance (one foot and two, maybe three inches, at all times— and yes, she's counting).<p>

This means no unnecessary contact, and it works mostly. They actually strike up a tentative friendship. One where she asks him about how his favorite baseball team is doing (zero and six unfortunately) and he lets her copy his study guides before big tests. It's all so cordial, as if she doesn't know how he tastes or remember the way her room always smelled like him long after he left or think about the fact that in so many ways they belonged to each other.

(Try as she might, there are some things she can never unknow.)

Because even though he is free now, an unattached, available, unrestrained _free_, he's not really, is he?

If they were to just pick up where they left off, it would still hurt Diana. And the circle. And perhaps even each other.

More is required of them and they continue to give it willingly.

She really has grown up so fast.

* * *

><p>"It's tainted, isn't it?" she asks him quietly one day. They are sitting at her kitchen table doing homework and Melissa's in the kitchen with Diana rooting through the cupboard for snacks and this is the first time they have been alone in as long as she can remember.<p>

"What is?" he asks, not looking up from his math assignment.

There's been something tugging at that place deep within her that values the way the autumn air feels in her lungs and his smile and Diana's laugh and the bond she feels with all of them. It's been pulling, nagging at her really, so she's not entirely surprised when the words come pouring out.

"Me and you. Anything that could have been," she whispers, her voice unwilling to conjure up anything more substantial.

He looks up then and moves closer to her, before saying, "No, Cassie. No. It's not."

"I didn't want that to happen, you know." She doesn't qualify what the "that" is, but he already knows.

He shrugs. "She did. I wasn't being honest and Diana is a good person. She deserves honesty. She deserves someone better than me."

She nods. He's right. Diana always has been, and always will be, better than both of them.

It's just another way (she's lost count of how many there are) that the two of them fit together, but she lets the thought pass without notice.

She exhales and looks directly at him. "We need to be better too."

For a moment he looks surprised. "I'm not sure I know how," he says quietly back.

He knows right from wrong. Or at least he did before they met and all of their carefully constructed black and whites melted into a broad canvas of gray. "I did this to you . . ." she says, looking away, the realization of the effect she has had on him hitting her at full force.

"No, you didn't. It—it wasn't just you. I chose this. And I did this to you too. We did this to each other," he replies, twinges of remorse lacing his words.

They have changed each other. They have changed how they see the world.

(She can't possibly see how it's been for the better, so she assumes it must be for the worse.)

They are part of something greater than the two of them and it's supposed to be beautiful and like coming home, and it is in many ways, but it's also a lot harder than she anticipated.

Diana and Melissa come back with a bag of Fritos and a pitcher of lemonade and when he refuses to meet her eyes, she decides that maybe it's impossible to be written in the stars without being burned by them.

* * *

><p>She resolves to not care.<p>

This works for about three hours. Then she sees him in the hallway and his eyes follow her as she passes by and if her hand reached out just a little farther she could touch his . . .

And then the hall lights would flicker or computer monitors would start exploding or water fountains would randomly start bubbling and the jig would be up.

She doesn't touch him.

This becomes rule number one.

Rule number two: it's all about distraction.

In the following weeks, she perfects several spells. She practices focusing her energy so that she is completely in control of it. It now feels like an extension of her instead of a random force sputtering out at unwanted times. She helps her grandmother bake. She learns to knit, although her first hat looks more like a deformed sock than something anyone would ever want to wear. She watches the entire series of Gilmore Girls, even season seven which is just an abomination to all that is holy in the name of Sherman-Palladino.

She doesn't think about him.

And slowly, very slowly, this becomes her new normal.

They still have demons to fight (both inwardly and out) and the circle is still fragile at times and Faye is still, well, Faye, but Cassie has learned how to live without.

Out of everything, this may have been her hardest lesson, and she can't help but feel a little proud when she recognizes her achievement.

Two weeks later, she goes on her first official date.

Kyle shows up on time and meets her grandmother and takes her to a burger place.

He has dirty blonde hair and wears hipster glasses and his manners are impeccable. He surprises her, telling her that doesn't understand the appeal of Seth Rogen's movies and that he's actually heard of her favorite author. As she sips on her milkshake (because they've somehow managed to stumble back into a 1950s date movie) she realizes that he talks to her as if they have known each other a long time, actually paying attention to what she is saying. It all fits perfectly into her new normal. She can just be with him without having to feel guilty or having to worry about what it might all mean in the overall narrative of her dictated life. When Kyle smiles at her, her breath catches in her throat and she knows this could be the start of something if she would let it be.

So she does.

She lets him kiss her on their third date (because being in an idealistic '50s relationship means nothing if not _chastity_) and it's not at all like her first kiss, but it's still kind of perfect in its own way. She smiles when she thinks of her first kiss, mainly because she realizes she can think of it now and still be okay. For the first time since coming to this town, she is standing on her own two feet and she is strong.

* * *

><p>She is happy. So naturally, it all falls apart.<p>

He shows up at her door around one a.m. (violating rules six and eleven: no showing up announced and no interaction after midnight) and right away she can tell something's wrong.

"Adam?" she says questioningly, and when he refuses to come any closer, she goes to him (there goes rule nine).

Her porch light shines just enough on his face for her to see that he's been crying.

"What is it?" she says. "Diana? Melissa? Faye?" her voice rising with every word.

He shakes his head and she finally realizes what has happened.

"Your dad . . ." she says and he collapses into her.

She manages to get him to her room and he lies down on her bed and she lies down next to him and they cry together.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks pass in a blur and all she can think about is how she thought they were broken before. She thinks of when Nick died or the time that Melissa was possessed or during the breakup that was heard around the world or the moment that she realized how much death has always surrounded them. But now, seeing him completely destroyed, she realizes how much more they still had to lose.<p>

Grandma takes care of him and makes sure he eats and has clean towels and still functions.

She grateful to her for giving him something she can't.

Because even though he is devastated, she has to retain some distance, she _has_ to.

She knows she should be thinking of only him at this time, but the death of his father has somehow made her unsure of everything.

His father was the always the one who believed in _them_, the two of them, of what they could do and be together. And neither of them had ever fully understood it, never fully grasped his almost obsession with her mother, with him and her, with the interconnectedness of their families.

The 'what might have been' of it all ruined his father's life.

And she doesn't want that for herself, but she can't go running back into his life. Because if she's honest, she doesn't want that for herself either. In her time apart from him, she's realized that she wants to be with someone because they both want to be together, plain and simple as that, not because some unknown force known only as 'destiny' has dictated it as such.

She waits until he's asleep before she tiptoes downstairs and calls Kyle. Kyle answers on the first ring and she only says has to say his name before he recognizes how upset she is. He's at her doorstep ten minutes later and he hugs her and lets her cry and even though he knows nothing about the circle or her magic or anything about that huge part of her life, he holds her as if she is precious and she loves him for it.

* * *

><p>The weeks turn into months. He moves into a small apartment the day after he turns eighteen.<p>

Her grandmother remarks that the house feels a little empty without him in it and although she agrees, she doesn't say so.

It's just another change and she's used to it by now. Things are never stable, people always leave.

One Thursday afternoon, Kyle walks in on her practicing her magic. He (understandably) freaks a bit. Okay, maybe more than a bit. She tries to explain to him how the whole thing works, and he listens; he does give her that. But it doesn't matter, because seeing her perform magic has changed how he looks at her. There's a curiosity that wasn't there before and she doesn't mind it, but beneath that there's also a fear. And she hates that he could ever be afraid of her, of what she can do.

He calls it off two days later and although she suspected it was coming, it still hurts. A lot.

This time, Grandma takes care of her and keeps a steady supply of Puffs plus and Ben and Jerry's ice cream coming her way, assuring her that she will get through this. That matters of the heart always take time to heal, but they do eventually heal.

Grandma's right, of course. She does heal. It takes a while, but eventually she can breathe without feeling a sharp pain in her chest and she can see Kyle sitting three desks away without fighting back tears. He still makes a point to say hello to her every morning. He was a good guy; he still is.

(It doesn't make it any easier, but it does assure her that she chose well, that Kyle was good for her. She only wishes she could have been better for him. Too often she still feels like she is back at her kitchen table with _him_ discussing how everyone seems to be better.)

* * *

><p>Life settles down then. No one breaks up (no one is together) and no one dies (there aren't many of them left) and no one leaves (because really where would they go?).<p>

They just keep on.

He stops by her locker one day after school and asks if she wants to grab a coffee. She agrees and they spend the next three hours at the local coffee shop, listening to the indie jazz mix pouring through the speakers and just talking. He remembered how she takes her coffee and she picked their favorite table and it almost seems as if the last year hadn't even happened. As if she could freeze time and with a wave of her hand, undo all of the things that are still impacting them day after day.

But then she remembers that when he leaves here, he'll still be going home to an empty apartment and a dinner for one and she feels a sadness overtake her.

"You okay?" he asks, seeing the expression on her face change.

She shakes her head, "Oh, um, yeah. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow and he says, "What is it?"

"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? Grandma was just saying how long it's been since she's seen you . . ."

"Oh, no, that's okay . . ."

"Please, I insist," she says, and she stares at him. He shifts a bit under her gaze and she remembers that she's always been good at getting her way with him.

"Um. Yeah, I guess so, okay."

"Great."

Dinner is relaxed and he actually laughs a couple times and it's over almost too quickly. While Grandma finishes cleaning up, she walks him to the front door and when he thanks her for the invitation, she can't help but wrap her arms around him. He lightly hugs her back before stepping away.

"I guess I'll see you at school tomorrow. Goodnight, Cassie," he says, quietly.

"Night," she responds, but he doesn't move right away, instead staying rooted to his spot, looking at her. It's as if there is something more than needs to be said, something more that needs to be done, so instead of returning inside she meets his eyes and doesn't move.

Eventually, she shakes her head, but doesn't break eye contact, and says, "Adam, I—"

Suddenly the porch light above them flickers twice and then flashes so bright that it almost breaks the glass before encompassing them in darkness.

She steps away, saying "No, no, no."

"Cassie. . ."

"No," she whispers harshly. "This wasn't supposed to happen anymore. We're friends. I don't see you in that way and I thought all that crap about destiny and being written in the stars and whatever died with your dad, so I don't understand—"

"What?" he says, his voice cold. "You thought what died with my dad?"

"I didn't, I didn't mean it like that, Adam."

"How did you mean it Cassie?"

She doesn't have an answer.

"That's what I thought. This was a mistake. I was just trying to get things to a better place with you and me, one where we can stand to be in the same room together for more than five minutes, but we're never going to be honest with each other, are we?" he asks.

"I have always been honest with you, Adam."

"Come on, Cassie. You're harder to read than a book of shadows. I never have any idea what you are thinking and you never tell me. We were together when I was dating Diana and that didn't even seem to faze you, so you can tell me you've been honest all you want, we both know it's not true," he finishes.

"Are you kidding me right now? I felt awful for doing that to her. I was the one who ended things because you weren't strong enough to. You weren't even strong enough to break up with her. If you wanted me so badly then why couldn't you have at least done that?" she questions.

"You told me not to! You never wanted us to break up," he sighs, frustrated, and rubs his hand over his hair. "This is what I mean. You aren't honest with me or with yourself. There has always been something between us from that first day in the woods when I touched your hand and you won't ever admit to it."

"Because I don't know if it's real!" she yells.

He's silent for a moment. "Of course it's real," he says steadily.

"No, Adam. It might not be. All that stuff about being written in the stars and destined and fated for eternity, that's what ruined your relationship with Diana and that's what's ruining whatever this is," she gestures into the space between the two of them. "I don't want to do what is dictated for me. I choose what I do."

He nods and looks away. "Just so you know. It was never about that destined-to-be-written- in-the-stars bull for me. I chose to be with you. I don't care if I was supposed to be 'written in the stars' with Faye, I still would have chosen you."

He turns and walks down the steps of her porch when she doesn't respond. Inwardly, her insides have been pulled out and replaced in a completely different random pattern so that all of the pieces are still working, she is still breathing, but nothing is moving correctly or in the order it should. She can feel her heartbeat in her wrists and her knees and she needs to focus on standing still and not going after him (wasn't that rule number nine?).

After a moment, he stops and turns back to her. "You know, I understand you, I do. Why follow the path that was laid for you without your consent? Screw that. I get it. I wouldn't want to do it either. But to not follow it just to give a giant 'F-off' to the world seems just as bad. You're still letting it control you. You're still choosing wrong."

She finally turns to look at him, tears pricking her eyes. "And you're still making me cry. Guess not much has changed."

The door slams behind her much harder than she meant it to.

* * *

><p>Everything has changed.<p>

Again.

She keeps replaying their fight over and over in head, thinking of different ways she could have responded to him, different cutting remarks she could have used, different harsh tones she could have conveyed.

But after a few days, her imaginary responses aren't so cutting or harsh. One by one they get replaced with assuring words, words that could mend and heal instead of devastate and destroy.

She guesses this is what forgiveness feels like and she hopes he's coming to the same realizations.

(She could use a little forgiveness in her life and she suspects he could too.)

So the next night she borrows the car and knocks on his apartment door and when he opens it, he doesn't even look surprised to see her.

He looks relieved and she suspects his face mirrors her own.

He doesn't say anything, but holds the door open a little wider and she enters, evaluating his new home.

It's nothing like his old home, but maybe it has come to mean just as much? When she thinks of home now, she thinks of Grandma and the old wooden house and her magic and the circle and him. He's part of her home.

So she tells him that and he nods and says "You're part of mine as well. A home that seems to be getting smaller and smaller. . ."

She fights the urge to envelop him in a hug again and instead busies herself with exploring his rooms.

"You need more pictures," she says finally.

"Pictures."

"Yeah, of the circle, of your other friends, of you and your dad. . ." she trails off. "I'll help you if you want."

He nods and looks a little confused, "Yeah, okay. But no arguing."

She nods and gives a small smile. "No arguing." She holds out her hand and he shakes it and the electricity flickers for just a moment and then returns to its steady pace and she knows they are going to be okay.

* * *

><p>They start spending a lot more time together. She doesn't even notice how much time, until her grandmother points it out.<p>

"It's not a big deal," she says.

"I know it's not, I just want you to think about what you are doing, Cassie," Grandma says.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"I'll be careful, Grandma. . ." she says, smiling.

"I wasn't talking about you."

"Oh," she remarks and looks down.

"He's been through enough, Cassie. You know that. Don't let him think something's true that isn't," her grandmother cautions.

"I never want to hurt him," she says quietly.

"So don't," Grandma says, a bit forcefully, a reminder of the damage she could do.

Grandma's words echo in her ears when they are watching a movie later that night. He had let her pick, so Ferris Bueller is dancing across the screen singing "Twist and Shout," and they are arguing about whether there could ever be a real-life Ferris in this world.

"He's too carefree. There's no way he could hold down a job or be someone's dad or even stay in one place for any amount of time. A real-life Ferris would practically be a penniless gypsy," she says.

"Nah, he'd grow up. He'd have to. He'd probably be like a photojournalist or something so that he could travel and meet new people and have crazy experiences that he'd then recount to his nieces and nephews, because there's no way he'd be tied down to a wife and kids. Not yet at least."

"What, he'd meet a female Ferris eventually and together they'd take over the world?" she asks.

"Definitely. Probably get into politics or something . . ."

"Oh, God. President Bueller?" she laughs.

He shrugs. "I'd vote for him."

"Of course you would," she says, smiling. "I don't know though. I'm not sure a female Ferris could exist."

"Well, she wouldn't have to be the exact same person as him. More like a complimentary character," he concedes. "I mean, everybody's got to have someone who's perfect for them, right?"

She thinks about that for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

He nods and neither says anything for a while. It's a moment, she's sure of it, but nothing is flickering or bursting or breaking and she suspects something is different, so she reaches out and takes his hand.

He looks surprised, but doesn't pull away.

She peers around his apartment at the lights, his television, the oven. Nothing is out of the ordinary; nothing is changing.

He follows her eye line and then looks back down at their interlocked hands. "Wow. I think that's the first time we haven't almost destroyed every light fixture in the room."

"Yeah," she nods, trying not to be perplexed. "So. . ."

"So, I guess we've beaten this thing?" he says finally.

"Can you un-write destiny?" she asks, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a small smile.

"Seems like we just did," he comments, as he sits back and his voice sounds a little disheartened.

She reaches up and turns his head so that his is looking at her. "I don't want to hurt you, Adam," she says softly.

"Stop doing this, then," he says, his words suddenly chilly and hard as he lets go of her hand.

"Doing what?"

"Treating me like I'm breakable. In case you haven't noticed, Cassie, I've survived a lot worse than having feelings for a girl who doesn't return them."

"I—"

He shakes his head and his voice is softer this time. "Cassie, don't worry about it. I've got a lot of things to figure out on my own now. I'm already pretty broken. Nothing you can do can really make it any worse."

"But I want to make it better," she says, the insistence in her voice surprising even herself.

He eyes her for a moment, unsure of whether he should believe her. Finally he turns back to the television. "Cameron's freak-out is almost on," he says. "I always thought he was the best character in this movie. Ferris's name might be in the title, but Cameron's really the star."

She turns back to the television and doesn't say that she's always liked Cameron better too.

* * *

><p>As graduation approaches, the circle makes a new pact about how to handle the college situation. She had long been eying a few schools on the west coast, but eventually agrees to an east coast school within a three hour radius of Chance Harbor. She has to; they all do. If they want to keep the circle bound, these measures are necessary. She is used to sacrifice in the name of their connection and actually takes some comfort in the fact that her closest friends will still be somewhat near.<p>

On graduation night, they have a campfire on the beach and although they are happy, it seems like something important is ending.

By two in the morning, the two of them are the only ones left. She's momentarily concerned about this, but they start talking and she forgets about all of it. They talk for a long while about everything from that summer she broke her arm to his worries about picking a major in college and she is reminded once again of how easy it can be between them when all of the "meant for each other" ideologies don't overwhelm them.

He chases her into the water and even though it's June, it's still freezing so they quickly run back up to the shore and lay down to watch the stars.

"Do you ever wonder?" he asks.

"About what?"

"What would have happened with us, all of us, if we hadn't been part of the circle?"

"Well Faye would probably still be the world's most passive-aggressive person. Melissa would be the leader of the fashion police. Diana would probably be ruling the school. Even more than she does now. Nick would . . ."

"Nick would still be alive."

"Yeah," she says, and turns on her side to look at him.

"And you and me?" he asks, turning to look at her.

"I don't know what we'd be."

"Me either," he says. "Everything about us has always been so wrapped up in the circle, I can't imagine my life without it. Or without you."

She's quiet for a moment before saying, "I'm gonna miss you too."

He nods and leans back, looking up at the expansive sky stretching out before them.

"Did you ever think that we were cheated out of something?"

She exhales. "You're full of questions tonight."

He smiles at her. "Yup. It's our high school graduation. You can't tell me you don't have some questions for the grand universe."

"Oh, I do."

"Really?"

"Yes really."

He stands and brushes the sand off of his pants. "So ask them."

She follows his lead, standing. "What? Here?"

"Sure, why not?"

She looks at him skeptically.

"Fine. I'll start. Why?" he yells, arms outstretched, face upwards. "Why did my dad allow himself to be destroyed?"

They are silent, waiting for answers, but all they hear are the crackling flames next to them and the water lapping at the shore.

"Your turn," he says.

"Why do I never feel like I am good enough?" she yells. There are no answers to that question either, but she feels a little lighter when the words leave her body.

"Why am I so unsure about everything all the time?" he says, his shouts echoing into the dark nowhere.

"How come I can't see the grand plan for our lives or even what comes next?" she shouts and the words are coming easier now. "Why didn't my mom tell me about the circle?" she continues. "Why do I feel like I have no connection to her at all, like she's a stranger to me?"

"How can we be all together and yet still so alone?" he yells.

"Why are there no easy answers?" she shouts.

He smirks and says, "Maybe right now we just need to be willing to ask the questions."

"Very philosophical, Socrates."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess so. But sometimes it just doesn't seem like the questions are enough," she says.

"I know," he states quietly.

"What did you think we were cheated out of?" she asks.

"Hmm?"

"What you said earlier. You said you thought we were cheated out of something."

"Oh that. I don't know. Just rambling, I guess," he says.

"Come on. It's our last night of high school. We've been shouting questions to the unknown universe. You know you can always talk to me," she says.

He breathes out and says "Sometimes I feel like we were cheated out of the relationship you and I might have had. I mean, it seems like we did everything in reverse. We found out we were meant to be together, then we started making out, then we broke up, but you can't even really break up what wasn't together, then we had this huge relationships conversation and then we became friends and isn't all of that supposed to happen the other way around?" He buries his toes in the sand and refuses to look up.

"I don't know. I guess so," she says, completely unsure about how she feels about any of this. "It does kind of seem like we weren't really given the chance to do what people usually do."

"And now we're going to different colleges and it's all in the past. I shouldn't look back, I know that. I know that better than anyone," he says and she can tell he is thinking of his dad. "But just talking with you like this, spilling all of our haunted questions out into the open, it's . . . well it's just another one of those questions without answers that I will always be asking." He gives her an almost sad half-smile and looks down at his watch. "Almost four a.m. Should I be taking you home?" he asks.

She doesn't answer him because that feeling has returned. The one she had that night on her porch during their big fight. The one where her insides feel completely rearranged and turned inside-out, as if he can see her heart and her mind and her bones and connective tissue and every part of her that she would normally try to keep hidden inside. She's exposed in front of him and even though she has never articulated the words as so, everything he has just said rings true in her bones and her tissue and her mind and her heart.

And she realizes that even though she was too afraid or hesitant or rebellious or _something_ to recognize it before, that these are the questions she too will always be asking.

She doesn't answer his question about taking her home, instead saying, "What if we could find the answers?"

"What?" he asks.

"The answers. What if they weren't as far away as we thought?"

"Cassie, I'm not following. . ."

Ever since their non-breakup she had been resistant to him, refusing to walk down that road. And she still thinks being predestined isn't a good enough reason to be together. But she can hardly think of that Adam anymore. The one who was so lost that he would cheat on Diana or wouldn't be strong enough to break up with her. The one who thought without a doubt that they were meant to be.

He isn't that person anymore.

Now she can only think of the Adam that makes her grandmother laugh and always hits his thumb with the hammer when hanging pictures on the wall and thinks the same way she does about movies and calls her on her unwillingness to have hard conversations. The Adam who will hog the popcorn and never misses a Red Sox game and has a deep sadness behind his eyes where his family used to be.

That's him now. And she's different too. And maybe . . . just maybe they could fit together now.

He's still looking at her expectantly, so she takes a step forward and kisses him and the flames in the campfire next to them burn at the exact same brightness as they always have.

It takes him a few moments to kiss her back, but then he does and she realizes that they could fit now if she (and he) would let them.

When he finally pulls away, he questions what they are doing and all she can say is, "Trying to find the truth?"

And he kisses her again and she thinks that maybe they have found it.

* * *

><p>"Do you have the keys?" she asks.<p>

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think you would be driving?" he teases.

"Of course. We both know I am a better driver."

"I know of no such thing."

"Adam!"

"Cassie."

"Please?" she opens her eyes a little wider than normal.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Compromise? I drive home, you drive back."

"_I_ drive home, _you_ drive back," he counters.

She sighs. "Deal. But I play deejay both ways."

"Done."

An hour and a half later they are pulling into her grandmother's driveway.

Grandma meets them at the car and squeezes both of them so tightly that she has to remember to breathe.

"College has made you far too skinny," Grandma says as she escorts them into the house. "Why aren't you making sure she eats enough?" she asks Adam.

"Um. . ."

"Grandma, I am fine. I just kind of hate the dining hall's food," she says.

"Well I will be sending food back with you, that's for sure."

She rolls her eyes at this and he just stands there watching them, a contented smile on his face. They are his family now, she realizes.

They eat dinner (Grandma gives her three extra helpings) and spend the rest of the evening with the other members of the circle who have returned from their respective colleges. They get teased an appropriate amount about being together and Adam's transfer to her school and she feels a little foolish for being so nervous about seeing the group again.

If college has done anything to their circle, it's made them realize that the drama of high school was unnecessary and that there is a much bigger world out there for them to explore. She's thinking of that world when he walks her to her door that night.

"You could stay here tonight you know," she says.

"Right, because your grandmother would have no issues at all with that."

"I meant in the spare room!" she says, slapping his shoulder lightly. "We're not supposed to know about any of those things that people do when they share a room, remember? We agreed."

He holds his hands up in mock innocence, his eyes twinkling. "Alright, alright."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" she says, thinking of his empty apartment that hasn't seen any signs of life since he left for college.

"I'll be fine, but I appreciate your concern," he says.

"I'm always concerned about you," she states.

"I know." He leans forward and kisses her forehead. "I'll swing by tomorrow for breakfast?"

"Sure. Gran is making pancakes with extra butter. She has declared that she's going to fatten me up at any cost."

He smiles and she leans forward to kiss him.

The porch light gets brighter and dimmer and brighter and dimmer about four times before they part. (All of that started happening again on their second official date, but this time it doesn't freak her out because she knows they got here on their own terms.)

"Love you," he says as he turns to leave.

"Love you too," she says, leaning against the doorjamb.

She watches him back out of the driveway until she can no longer see his car and then walks to the edge of the porch and looks up at the stars. She doesn't see their names and she's glad because that means every misstep (cheating) and miscommunication (practically every conversation they had her first year and a half here) and fight (the one of this very porch stands out) and moment (the beach, their first date, late night physics study sessions, the day he accidentally spilled coffee all over her and she realized she loved him), all of it has lead them here.

And really, as she walks back into her home, shutting off the lights one by one with a flick of her hand, there's no place else she'd rather be.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all!<em>


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